


Again, In A Better Life

by cotton_prima



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28842654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cotton_prima/pseuds/cotton_prima
Summary: Robin sacrifices himself to destroy Grima, and Chrom refuses to believe he's dead. Anyhow, he returns a year later, just as Naga said he might.How do you grieve someone who's alive?
Relationships: Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 64





	Again, In A Better Life

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to blaseball music for making me want to write Chrobin??? For some reason???

_I watched you turn to ash on live TV_

_I watched you claw your way back out of the ground_

_Now he’s gone, the world was half asleep_

_Now he’s back, the world is upside down_

\- [_shutout_ , by madden](https://thegarages.bandcamp.com/track/shutout)

\------------

He had promised he wouldn’t do this. He had promised that, come what may, they would deal with the Fell Dragon together.

He had lied.

Now he was dying. He was dying, and all Chrom could do was scream into the wind. Still, Robin smiled at him. A liar’s smile.

“Thank you, Chrom. For everything.”

His voice was an echo of its usual self. Already his body was losing its shape.

“May we meet again in a better life.”

And then he was gone.

There was no funeral. Some of the Shepherds mourned privately, but there was no official recognition of Robin’s death. As far as Chrom was concerned, he wasn’t dead, just missing. After all, Naga had said he might come back, hadn’t she? So he had to come back. He wouldn’t just leave them like this. He wouldn’t leave _him_.

“I’ll find him,” he had promised. And yet the months slipped past and he hardly had time to even accompany the Shepherds on routine patrols. Now that the war was over, there was so much that needed doing—mending relations with Plegia’s new queen, attending to the needs of his own kingdom, and being a father to Lucina. She was walking now. He wanted to be out there, searching. But most days, he didn’t even leave the castle.

One by one the future children went their separate ways, the magnetizing purpose that had drawn them to the together now fulfilled. Lucina went first, disappearing without so much as a goodbye. The other children followed after her. Even Morgan, who remained the longest in hope of seeing her father’s return, left for Plegia after a few months. The cramped emptiness of the castle became more than she could bear. Chrom couldn’t blame her.

If Robin were here, he would have borne all of this with him. He would have outmaneuvered the nobles trying to leverage restoration efforts for their own gain. He would have known what to say to the new Plegian queen. He would have comforted Lucina when Chrom was exhausted and wanted badly to scream himself. They would have seen Morgan off together, sharing their worries and hopes for her journey.

But Robin wasn’t here, and as it was, he was only half of their whole. The weaker half, he feared. Chrom had known for some time that Robin was a part of him, but he hadn’t realized how big a part until now. It was like a hole had opened in his chest. Like a wound that no one could see, that he wasn’t sure was even real.

But he put on a brave face. He got out of bed every morning. He got dressed and hid the hole in his chest beneath the robes of the Exalt. Robin had often called him stubborn, so he would be stubborn. He would wait for Robin to return. No matter how long it took.

It took about a year.

It was a rare day that he had time to spare. They had gone riding for old times’ sake, just Lissa, Frederick, and himself. He hadn’t expected anything from the trip except fresh air and a reprieve from paperwork.

But there was Robin, lying on his back in a field. The grasses tall with spring rain and all the trees holding their breath. He was sleeping soundly, as nothing in the world could disturb him.

“Welcome back. It’s over now.”

Robin smiled at him, and Chrom knew that this was the part where his heart should soar. But it didn’t. Instead, he was atop the dragon’s back all over again, and Robin was smiling as his body fell to pieces. Chrom flinched. Only for a second, but that was long enough. A cloud passed over Robin’s expression. He was still smiling, but it was a little too pleasant, a little too tight. He wasn’t quite looking him in the eyes.

“It’s good to be back,” he said, voice stiff.

“Robin, you—”

“Robin!” Lissa barreled into him, knocking him back into the grass. “You’re back! You’re really back!”

“It is a relief to have you with us again, Robin,” Frederick said, stepping forward.

“Seriously! You had us so worried!”

A sudden stab of guilt pierced Chrom’s gut. They spoke to Robin with such ease, as if they were simply greeting a friend they hadn’t seen in a little while. Was it that easy? It must be. He had just been a little shocked, that was all. This was a _happy_ moment.

“Let’s get you home,” Chrom said, working a smile back onto his face. Because he _was_ happy. More than anything. He took Robin’s hand in his, where it belonged. He squeezed, and he felt Robin squeeze back.

 _This is right, isn’t it?_ he thought as they rode back to Ylisstol, Robin’s arms around his waist and his head pressed against his back. This was how it should be. Robin had returned, which meant he would be whole again.

This would be their better life.

It was a fine party, although Maribelle insisted that they throw a proper one later. Robin deserved more, she argued, than hastily stewed meats and yesterday’s pies. Chrom agreed. But the Shepherds couldn’t _not_ celebrate his return.

So they stayed up late in the great hall, feasting and laughing. It was like they’d won the war again. Vaike tried to challenge Chrom to a drinking contest, and when Chrom declined, he made the mistake of challenging Sully, who drank him under the table. Olivia worked up the courage to show her new dance. Cordelia scolded Gaius for not leaving enough sweets for everyone else. Stahl fell out of his chair. 

Robin hovered by his side most of the evening. Even though everyone wanted to be near him. Even though he was usually the most sociable person Chrom knew. Tonight he was pleasant and warm, speaking at length with everyone who greeted him as if picking up where they had left off. But at the same time he seemed to float above it all, with them, but only just.

Or maybe Chrom was imagining things. Maybe he was tired. It had been a long, strange day, and while it was nice to celebrate, there was a heaviness in his limbs. So when Sumia began telling Robin about the pegasus foal born last month, he excused himself and slipped out to the balcony.

It was a clear night, the sky crowded with stars. The cold air felt good against his skin. “Bracing,” Frederick might have said. Chrom leaned against the baluster, filling his lungs with that dark air. He felt better, and then he felt relieved. He _was_ just tired, and the hall was too stuffy. He had just needed air.

Minutes passed. He heard the balcony doors open and shut.

“You’re not cold?” Robin asked. “If you are, I brought you this drink.”

“Thanks.”

The cup felt heavy in his hand, its contents dark and unappealing. Still, he raised it up.

“To a better life,” he said.

“…To a better life.”

He drank quickly, hardly tasting the ale. Robin took small sips from his own cup. He seemed so comfortable standing there with a drink in his hand, looking out over the garden. How many times had they escaped to this very balcony when a party became too much? How many times had he seen him lean coolly against that pillar, eyelashes batting back the darkness?

“Should you really be sneaking out of your own party?” Chrom asked jokingly. Robin took another sip of his drink, smiled over the rim of his cup.

“I could ask the same of you.”

“I’m just getting some air.”

“Then that’s what I’m doing, too.”

“People will talk.”

“It’s what they do best.”

Chrom grinned. They were years past the point where sneaking off together was remarkable—the silver ring hanging against his chest was a testament to that. Still, it felt good to play the blushing couple again. The script was awkward, but it was familiar. They basked in the comfort of that familiarity for a while, the nearby sounds of merriment filling the spaces between them. But it could only fill so much.

“Um,” Robin said, looking into what was left of his drink. “Thanks for all this. The party. And for finding me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. And the party, well, it wasn’t really my idea.”

“It’s nice.”

“It is.”

Stiff silence settled between them. They stood there, feigning ease. Looking out into the garden, as if it were something worth seeing. And now the vast, empty night rose up around them, bearing its fangs.

It _was_ a little cold.

“Do you…” Robin began to say, then caught himself.

“Do I…?” Chrom prompted. But already Robin was shaking his head, frowning slightly.

“It’s nothing.”

“But something’s on your mind.”

“Well…”

“Is it Lucina?”

“Lucina?” For a moment he looked confused. Then his expression mellowed into understanding. A little regret. “She was just an infant when we left for Valm. I didn’t expect her to remember me.”

He spoke matter-of-factly enough, resigned and steadfast against disappointment. Chrom found himself frowning.

“It’s alright,” Robin said. He reached out at patted him on the shoulder. His hand felt solid and cold. “Really. She has the rest of her life to get to know me, and on better terms this time.”

“It’s alright?”

“Yes.”

“Then why…”

Why what, exactly? He didn’t know. There was a feeling bubbling up the back of his throat, dark and viscous, and he was reaching for something, the right question, some way to make Robin know. But there was no language for it.

“Why are we out here?” Chrom asked instead.

“We’re getting air, aren’t we?”

Robin smiled again. He was trying so hard, but it was a hollow effort. He crossed his arms and cast his gaze back into the garden.

“I’m glad to see everyone,” he said, his voice low. “I always am. They’re family to me, after all. It’s just strange. Olivia cried when she saw me. Lon’qu _smiled_. They haven’t seen me in a year, but I feel like I just saw them yesterday. I…I don’t know what to say to them,” Robin admitted. He turned toward him, and Chrom could see the frustration in his face. “Do I apologize?”

“You’re not sorry.”

He didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but perhaps there was no way around it. Robin stared at him, eyes sharp with surprise. Chrom stared back.

“I made my choice,” Robin said finally. “But I am sorry to have left them.” He raised his hand slightly, so his fingers brushed against Chrom’s. “I am sorry to have left _you_.”

It wasn’t fair how he could do that. How he could melt him with just a touch, a handful of words. Now, Robin was looking at him with such fondness, his face soft with night. Chrom felt some of the tightness go out of his chest. It wasn’t the answer he wanted from him, but for the moment it could be enough.

He had, after all, wanted to be melted.

“You know, you haven’t kissed me properly since I got back,” Robin said.

“Properly?” Chrom asked, his fingers trailing up his wrist.

“Mhmm.”

“Well, I couldn’t do that here.”

“Then take me somewhere else.” His voice was innocent, but his words were drenched with insinuation. Robin tilted his head slightly, angling his eyes up at him. An effective tactic. Chrom swallowed thickly.

“Alright. Have it your way.”

“You’re leaving?”

Shrugging his shirt on, Robin glanced back at him from across the bed.

“I’ve been asleep for an entire year,” he said. “I don’t think I could sleep any more if I tried. I thought I’d write Morgan. Let her know that I’m not…that I’m here.”

“Oh.”

His skin buzzed where Robin had lay just moments before. But already he could feel his warmth evaporating from the sheets. Chrom sat up. He picked at a loose thread on the quilt. He knew Robin was watching him, waiting for him to say something that would give him permission to go. And Chrom knew that he would, eventually. But he had wanted to fall asleep next to his husband.

Robin shifted closer and took his hand, his fingers a little cold.

“I could stay until you fall asleep,” he offered, but Chrom shook his head. He suddenly felt very childish. Robin had only just come back, and here he was, expecting to be coddled. Was the Exalt of Ylisse afraid of sleeping alone?

Shameful.

“No, you should go,” he insisted, squeezing Robin’s hand. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Relief played across Robin’s face, a little too quickly. He pressed a kiss against his cheek, then slid from his arms.

“See you in the morning,” he promised.

The air is thin and smells of burning. He staggers forward, body heavy with exhaustion, and the ground seems to buckle under him. No, not ground at all, but scales dark and radiant as night. He can hear the dragon’s screams, the beating of its wings, and terror spikes through him.

_Robin._

He can see him now, dark coat flapping against the wind. He runs toward him, but it’s useless. He will never reach him. Robin turns, and he is smiling. He’s dying, his body turning to ash. But he won’t stop smiling.

Chrom woke, heart rabbiting violent in his chest, sheets twisted around him, clothes sweat-damp. He shut his eyes again and took deep, gulping breaths, willing his heartbeat to a more even pace. That dream again. Always that same dream. But that was all it was, he reminded himself. After all, Robin was back now. Wasn’t he?

All at once the emptiness of the bed lurched upward. The breath flew out of him, and his body went cold as needles. But no. Robin _was_ back. He was in the next room, working. He could see the faint light of his candles beneath the door, familiar and reassuring. If he listened carefully, he could hear the muffled sound of his pen or papers shuffling. If he wanted to, he could go into that room and watch him work. But he wouldn’t. That would be silly, right? Because he _knew_ Robin was back. Chrom had held him in his arms himself and had confirmed the solid weight of his body against his own. He was back. He was here. It was supposed to be better.

So why was he still having that dream? Why was this hole still in his chest?

“Lucina, what do you have there? May I see it?”

Chrom watched from the open door to Lucina’s room as their daughter waddled over to Robin and pressed her chubby fist into his hand. In only a week, she had overcome her shyness of him.

“A button? Did it fall off your dress?” Robin was a natural at fussing over her, smoothing the frills on her collar until he found the broken threads. “Hmm, maybe we can ask Frederick to sew it back on for us?”

Chrom stepped into the room then, and Lucina turned toward him so fast she nearly lost her balance. Extracting herself from Robin’s grip, she threw her little body at his legs with so much force that he feared she would break her nose. But she was fine. In fact, she seemed perfectly content to plop herself down on his foot and cling to his shin.

“I’m back,” he announced redundantly. He shuffled toward Robin, Lucina screeching each time he lifted her off the ground.

“How did the council meeting go?” Robin asked, making room on the couch for Chrom to sit, which he did gladly.

“It could have gone a lot worse. The treaty with Plegia is basically finalized, but you know how some of the ministers are.”

Robin grimaced, though he hid it by bending down to help Lucina clamber up onto his lap.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to sit in on those?” he asked, as he tried to keep Lucina from chewing on her own hair. “I could…”

He stopped himself, his frown deepening. They both knew there was no way for him to finish that sentence. It would have been one thing if he had helped to negotiate the treaty—he might have some sway over the ministers then. But he hadn’t been there.

“Don’t worry about it,” Chrom said before the silence could grow too deep. “They know they don’t have any real leverage over these discussions. They’re just being stubborn. Besides, spending time with Lucina is more important.”

Upon hearing her name, the girl looked up at him, then let her head fall directly into his ribs.

“Luci, be gentle with your father,” Robin said, running a hand over her sleek hair.

“Oh, it’s alright. She’s just getting a feel for her body.”

“And soon she’ll be strong enough to smash through the castle walls.”

“Hey.”

Robin smirked, and a warmth poured through Chrom’s chest. This was nice, he thought as Lucina tugged at his shirt buttons. It was like they were a family.

Then Robin stood up.

“I have to go,” he said, and instantly the warmth was gone, replaced by ice. “I asked Cordelia to brief me on how the pegasus knight recruitment is going. Can you watch Lucina? Should I call a nurse?”

“No, I…I can watch her. I just…”

He just what? Chrom blinked down at Lucina, as if she could supply the words for him. She blinked back, unimpressed.

“I have some time this afternoon,” he said. “I thought we could maybe eat together for once?”

Immediately he knew saying “for once” was a mistake. Robin flinched, hurt and guilt flashing over his face fast as lightning. It was awful to see, but for a perverse moment, it felt good. Satisfying. Robin looked devastated, and Chrom felt that was right. After all, that’s how he had felt this whole time.

Gods, what an ugly thing to think.

It took a second for Robin to compose himself. But he did, and expertly, the worry sliding from his face like rain.

“Sorry, but I already told Cordelia I’d meet her. She’s been busy lately, so I want to be respectful of her time.”

He smiled sheepishly, as if Chrom had caught him in some awkwardness, and he was truly, truly sorry. Because that was all this was, wasn’t it? A problem of scheduling. It happened.

“We could still have dinner together,” Robin offered, trying to soften the blow. Chrom let him, nodding. His head felt full of gravel.

“Dinner. Right. I should be free for that.”

“Great!” Robin said, as if dinner was some grand triumph. But his mind was already onto the next thing, racing away from them. Chrom could tell. “I’ll see you then! Bye, Luci.”

He smoothed down Lucina’s hair again, then leaned in and kissed him so fast his lips hardly brushed his cheek. Then he was out the door.

He was avoiding being alone with him, Chrom thought. Though in truth, he had known that for a while now. He just hadn’t allowed himself to think it. It hurt as much as he expected it would.

“What should we do?” he asked Lucina. But she couldn’t answer him. No one could.

What _should_ he do?

His dreams woke him again that night. His breath came in fast ragged gulps, but it didn’t feel like breathing. It felt like there was a horse sitting on his chest. He gripped the front of his shirt, palms sweating through the rumpled fabric. Was this a curse? A heart-attack? Was he going to die?

He didn’t die. In a few minutes his breathing began to steady, and his heart felt less like it was trying to break through his ribcage. The terror ebbed out of him, leaving him trembling and exhausted. He felt weak. Sweaty.

In the dream, Robin was gone. Chrom had run through a field littered with bodies, searching. No dragons this time, but that didn’t matter. He’d known with terrible certainty that Robin was among the dead. Again. But where was his husband’s body? Not this one, or this one either. Where was he?

Then he had looked up. Then he had seen the body, Robin’s, plummeting through the air. Then hitting the ground, not a field now, but a stone courtyard. He kept hitting the ground, and all of these bodies were his, and _that’s not how it had happened._

But Robin was right next to him, curled in bed and hogging the sheets. Wearing one of Chrom’s too-big shirts. He was sleeping soundly, which seemed impossible. Just moments ago Chrom had felt as if the world were collapsing on him, the roar of his heart loud enough to split mountains. And Robin had slept through it. Not that it was his fault.

Still.

Robin used to have nightmares, Chrom remembered. Bad enough to jolt him awake, just like this. He had sat up with him a couple of times, waiting for dawn’s clammy light to push the demons away. But Robin had had more nightmares than that. How many nights had he lay awake while Chrom dreamt?

“Two halves of the same whole,” he’d called them. It had seemed like a pretty metaphor at the time, but there were parts of Robin’s life he would never know. There were parts of Robin’s life that _Robin_ would never know. Gods, what must he have thought when he’d said that? How presumptuous.

(After all, there were things Robin kept from him.)

Were nights always this long, Chrom wondered as he stared into the back of his eyelids. Were they always this lonely? Robin was right there, only inches away, but his absence felt deeper than ever. He briefly considered waking him, then felt immediately ashamed. He would not be so weak. He could handle it.

(Was that why Robin had lied to him? Because he was weak?)

Carefully, he curled his body against Robin’s, pressing his forehead against his back. He could feel the soothing thump of his heartbeat. _I’m here, I’m here, I’m here_ , it said.

Couldn’t that be enough?

If it’s not enough, what is?

_“Milord?”_

He’s tired. He can’t think about it.

_“Milord.”_

He doesn’t want to think about it.

“Milord!”

He woke so suddenly he might have fallen out of his chair, were it not for the steadying hand on his shoulder. He must have fallen asleep in his office. His eyes felt heavy and chewed-out, and in the fuzz of waking, everything appeared submerged. The afternoon light was seeping in through the narrow windows. His pen had dribbled a small puddle of ink onto a finance report he was supposed to review. Frederick looked concerned. More than usual.

“What time is it?” Chrom asked.

“Almost three.”

“Then I can still make the finance meeting.”

“About that, sire. The meeting has been cancelled. It seems that Lord Marcius came down with a sudden stomach flu.”

“We can’t hold the meeting without him?”

Frederick stared at him for a long second, as if trying to work out a particularly baffling joke.

“He called the meeting. It was to be on his resolution.”

Oh. Right.

Chrom dragged his hands across his face. He should have remembered that. But his thoughts felt so heavy. Like bread sopped in blood. He took a deep breath. Exhaled.

“Are you not feeling well, sire?”

“Just short on sleep.”

“You’ve been short on sleep for a few days now.”

“I suppose I have.”

An awkward silence festered between them. Instead of excusing himself, Frederick continued to stand at attention. His presence was demanding. Chrom wished he would just go.

“Is that all, Frederick?” he finally asked.

“No, actually. I have other concerns.”

“Well, let’s hear them then.”

Frederick nodded, his posture straightening ever so slightly.

“Your movements are slower than usual. Your face is pale. You’ve had difficulty focusing. You’ve been late to your appointments. You’ve been spending more time at the training grounds, but your form has gotten sloppier. At meals, you’re eating about a third less than you usually do, and you hardly spoke to anyone at breakfast.”

“You’re certainly attentive as ever.”

“Of course. I’m…worried about you,” Frederick said, his voice low. A hushed look settled upon his face, and Chrom felt his gut clench. “Is everything alright?”

He was about to say yes, of course it was. But he couldn’t. It was as if someone had shoved a wad of cotton down his throat. The words stuck there, suffocated, then died. The silence startled him. He sat there blinking foolishly, mouth half open, breath sitting on his tongue. Finally, he grinned. Laughter punched through his throat—a dry, weak bark of a laugh.

“Alright?” he asked. “Everything’s perfect. Robin’s back. I couldn’t have asked for a greater miracle.”

Frederick didn’t look convinced.

“This is about Robin?” he asked.

“No,” he said too quickly. “Nothing’s wrong with Robin.”

“I didn’t—”

“Nothing’s wrong with Robin. If anything’s wrong, it’s…”

Again his words snagged. He took a moment to gather his strength, then forced his mouth into the shape of a smile.

“Haha, what am I saying?” he asked vacantly. “Nothing’s wrong. I mean, I got everything I wanted. I should be happy, shouldn’t I?”

Frederick looked stricken.

“Come now, Frederick,” Chrom said, trying to whip some levity into his voice. “It can’t be _that_ bad.”

“Milord.”

“I’m just tired. I’m exaggerating things. It’s nothing I can’t handle. I just—”

“Chrom.”

Frederick’s voice was quiet, but firm. Like he was soothing a spooked horse, Chrom thought irritably. Still, he let himself be soothed.

He was so tired.

“Have you told Robin about this?”

“Tell him what? What would I say, that I’ve been miserable since he’s been back?”

“Is that how you feel?”

“No. Of course not. But…”

But he didn’t know what else to call it. And if he didn’t know, then how could he explain it in a way Robin could understand? He’d only ruin things.

(It was enough that Robin didn’t trust him.)

Chrom gripped the arms of his chair until he felt his fingers would splinter. Light was pooling in the corners of the room. Everything else seemed cast in shadow. He didn’t know where to look, so he focused on the ruined finance report, the splotch of ink. It seemed a seething thing, like it would swallow the room if he let it.

“You never grieved him,” Frederick said after a moment. “You never stopped. You never let yourself recover. You were always searching, always looking ahead.”

“I had to,” Chrom said. “I’m the Exalt.”

“Yes.”

“I had to be strong.”

“Yes.”

“And Robin wasn’t—” He couldn’t say it. Even after all this time, he couldn’t say it. “He was only gone for a little while. It was only a year. Anyhow, what’s the point of grieving him? He’s back.”

Frederick nodded.

“But you still lost him.”

His words were gentle. They stung. He wanted, irrationally, to deny it. But it was true, wasn’t it? He _had_ lost Robin. And although he’d returned, something between them was lost still.

“Do I tell him, then?” Chrom asked. “I’m not sure how. After all, he’s the one who…who sacrificed himself. I don’t want to lose him again.”

“Your bond is stronger than that. It was strong enough to bring him back, was it not?”

He wanted so much to believe that. Could he?

“I thought this would be easier,” he admitted. “I thought I would feel…” Whole. “Different. I didn’t expect to feel this weak.”

“You have been strong for so many years. Certainly you’ve earned a few moments of weakness.”

“‘A few moments,’ huh? Careful—people will think you’re getting soft.”

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?”

The look he gave him was slightly conspiratorial, and suddenly Chrom was a boy again, and Frederick the beleaguered teen in too-big armor come to fetch him for his lessons, allowing him five more minutes to hide in the garden (but _only_ five minutes). Chrom smiled. It was a faint thing, but it was real. He took a deep breath.

“Thank you, Frederick,” he said. “I…I think I needed to hear that. I’m sorry to have worried you.”

“No need to apologize. I’ve made quite a profession out of worrying, after all.” He spoke with his usual dry wit, but there was something else in his expression. A lingering warmth. “Do remember to take care of yourself, sire.”

Chrom nodded. He knew what he had to do.

It was late, but not too late. Chrom returned from the bath to find Robin sitting in bed, a book in his hand and another open next to him, eyes darting from one to the other. His thinking felt loud. He looked up when Chrom entered the room, smiled reflexively, then returned to his reading.

“Can we talk?”

He watched the way Robin tensed, the slight tremble of breath across his lips. The way his fingers hovered a moment over the page before settling, dimpling the paper.

“Sure,” he said, setting the books on the nightstand and folding his hands neatly in his lap. His smile was pleasant and meticulous. “What do you want to talk about?”

“What happened with Grima.”

His smile broke.

“Oh.”

Chrom sat on the bed. He half expected Robin to bolt, but he didn’t. He was staring hard at his blanket-covered knees, knuckles whitening. He looked as frozen as Chrom felt, but this was no comfort. They sat there, the terrible seconds unspooling themselves between them.

“We haven’t really talked about it,” Chrom said. It was redundant, but he had to say something.

“We haven’t,” Robin agreed. With great effort, he raised his head. And he wasn’t smiling. But at least he was really looking at him. “We should.”

“You…killed Grima.”

“I did.”

“You…”

The thought sucked the breath from him. He could feel the weight of it pressing on him. But he had to say it. It had been long enough.

“You died.”

Robin winced. Chrom, too, felt the sting. Frozen air whistling through the hollow of his chest. It hurt. It felt more real than anything in the past year. At last, he had said it.

“You died,” he said again. “I saw it. Your body broke into pieces until there was nothing left.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There was nothing to bring back. I had to tell Morgan…I had to tell her that you…”

“I’m sorry.”

“After Emm died, I told myself I’d never let it happen again. But it did.”

“I’m sorry.”

Robin touched his hand, and suddenly the frozen feeling was gone. Instead, his skin was boiling, itching as if with a thousand blisters. Chrom drew his hand away.

“I don’t—!” He took a moment to soothe the snarl from his voice. He pressed his palm against his eyes. He had wanted to avoid this. This fury. It had been there all this time, twisting beneath his sorrow. But he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. How could he? How could he be angry with Robin?

 _Like this_ , he thought bitterly.

“I don’t need you to apologize,” he said.

Robin nodded. He had not flinched at Chrom’s outburst. He had looked directly at him, resolute if not a bit resigned.

“What do you need from me, Chrom?”

“I don’t know. For you to be here?”

“I’m here.”

“But you lied to me.” The accusation sprang spark-like from his tongue. “You promised you wouldn’t do it. That was a lie.”

“It was, yes.”

“You lied.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“I…” Now Robin faltered. He blinked heavily, then his gaze dropped into the sheets. “I didn’t want you to worry about it. I thought that, no matter what I chose, I’d end up hurting someone. But imagining that Grima would one day return…I don’t think I could have lived with myself.”

 _So I was supposed to live without you?_ Chrom thought. It was a selfish thought—one he knew was unbefitting of a king. Still, it was his.

“I knew it would hurt you either way, but I figured…I thought I might be able to spare you from it. For a little while, at least.”

“‘Ignorance is bliss,’ is that it?”

Robin shrugged.

“I don’t feel spared,” Chrom said. “I feel…”

Betrayed was too strong a word. All other words felt too weak.

“I’ve felt empty,” he decided. “The whole time you were gone, it was like my body was dislocated from itself.”

“That…sounds awful.”

“I wish you had told me. Did you not trust me? Did you think I would try to stop you?”

“Would you?” Robin raised his face. “If you knew, would you have stopped me?”

He had thought about it. Every night for the past year, he had thought about that moment on the dragon’s back. What would he have done if he’d realized Robin’s plan even a second sooner? He could have tackled him, held him tight. Wrestled the tome away from him because it wasn’t supposed to end that way. They had collected the Fire Emblem’s missing gemstones, and he had received Naga’s blessing—he had withstood her fire for it. What was it all for? What was _he_ for, if not to do this one thing?

But would he have done it? Would he, knowing Grima would survive? Knowing the ruin the dragon had made of Lucina’s world? Could he face her, knowing he’d sacrificed the future to save Robin? He wanted to believe she’d understand—Robin was her father, too. But the thought made him hesitate. And that was enough.

He hesitated, and the moment collapsed. Robin landed the final blow, dark coat flapping against the wind. Grima screamed, then died. Robin, too. And Chrom was standing there in the wind, holding a useless sword and a useless shield.

He hated Robin’s choice. He had spent a year hating it. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to think it was wrong. That was the worst part of it—that it was the right choice, just not for him. Not for _them_.

“…No,” Chrom finally said. “I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

Robin smiled weakly, and all of a sudden, he looked tired. Worn out like clothes lived in for too long, the fabric thin and soft at the elbows. He raised his hands to his face, covering his eyes.

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

“I don’t want to resent you.”

“It’s not that I didn’t trust you,” Robin said. “I trust you more deeply than anyone. I guess I was just…scared.”

“Of dying?”

“Of living.”

Chrom felt the remnants of his anger scatter, replaced by cold fear. No, not replaced. It had always been there, hadn’t it? The annihilating feeling that Robin might really, truly be lost to him.

Robin lowered his hands, and there was a hardness in his eyes.

“You’re right. I lied to you. Of course you wouldn’t feel spared by that. But the truth is, I wasn’t brave enough. I thought that if I told you, I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. So I didn’t tell you. I ran away. Even now, I’ve been running from you.”

“Robin…”

“I should have known better than to put that on you. You deserved more from me. I guess I just…didn’t plan on coming back.” He shook his head, his expression wavering in the candlelight. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t need to hear that. But I am. I’m—”

His words were muffled by the crush of Chrom’s body as he embraced him. Chrom buried his face into his shoulder, the desperate strength of his arms convincing him of Robin’s body. After a moment, he felt Robin’s hands against his back, tentative at first, then clinging to his shirt.

“It really hurt.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t leave me again.”

“I don’t want to.”

It wasn’t quite a promise, but it was what he needed to hear. They stayed like that a while, breathing in each other’s presence, Chrom’s still-damp hair darkening Robin’s shirt. The candles burning down, the room getting colder with night. But Robin, at least, was warm. He smelled slightly of soap, slightly of salt and dust. It was comfortable to hold him. But he couldn’t do it forever. He let his arms loosen, let Robin pull away from him. He looked shy, boyish even, glancing up at him from beneath his bangs.

“Well,” he said. “I’m back.”

Chrom brushed the hair back from his face.

“Welcome back.”

This time, he didn’t pretend that it was over. It wasn’t, and maybe it would never be. There was still a hole living in his chest. In time it might shrink or even close. But he had been mistaken to think that Robin alone could fill it.

“I missed you,” he said instead. “I missed you every day. Gods, I hadn’t told you that, had I?”

He laughed. He felt lighter than he had in months. And yet his eyes stung and his heart was beating harder, as if the wasted year itself was pushing its way out of him. Suddenly he had so much to say, and not enough breath in his lungs to say it.

“You know, after we returned to Ylisse, I couldn’t sleep in this room. You’d left some clothes out, some books. It didn’t feel right that they were there, but you weren’t. I just couldn’t bring myself to look at them. I don’t remember where I slept back then. My office, I suppose. Anyhow, embarrassing as it is to admit, Frederick eventually put your things away. I was actually against it, if you can believe it. I didn’t want anyone touching the room. I thought you might…Ah, but you probably don’t want to hear this.”

“No, I do.”

Robin lay down, patting the sheets next to him. Chrom joined him, head settling against his chest. Here was the familiar heartbeat, the familiar fingers stroking his hair. He closed his eyes. It felt right. It felt like home.

“You can tell me about it,” Robin said.

So he did. They put out the candles, and he talked into the darkness and smoke. He talked until his voice grew rough, until the morning’s grayish light peeked into the room. He talked about everything that had happened and everything that hadn’t, the empty hours, the days full of glass. He hadn’t realized there were so many words inside him. He hadn’t known he’d had so much to say. But Robin listened patiently, his body warm and real next to him.

And it wasn’t everything. It wasn’t better. But it was a start.

**Author's Note:**

> @CottonPrima on twitter, I guess.


End file.
